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Posts Tagged ‘metro’

Reasons.

Talking with a friend in Paris before I left, he said, “TEXAS?!?  You’re moving from PARIS to TEXAS!?!”

And I said Yes.

And he said But why?!

“There are the reasons that I tell and then there’s a girl.”

“Some girl?”

And I said that no, not just some girl and he said that he would never give up a city like this for some girl.  And I asked What would you give up?  And he said his car.

“You don’t have a car,” I said.

Before I left, I had to write letters to cancel my cell phone and my metro card.  I quit three jobs, threw away 30 pounds of stuff to fit into bags and took a plane across an ocean.  And after a while, after a few frustrations, after a few too many last coffees, I lost track of the reasons.  A decision was made and I was just following through.  Callused, I’d call it.

“That or TV,” he said.

“You don’t watch TV.”

And then I thought What would I give up for love?  My books?  Those can go.  My ability to read?  There’s a tough one.  Tea?  Even tougher.  Okay, well… But a city, even a Paris of a city, I’ll  just say that I’ve begun practicing my y’alls.

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There was a metro preacher the other day who said, “People say that you can’t cure cancer.  Cancer is a tiny virus,” he said.  “So tiny.  To God, cancer is the size of an ant.”  Considering a virus is monumentally smaller than an ant, God, in this man’s eyes, must be an itty bitty little guy.

——-

My mom and I broke a wish bone together this morning and I lost.  I started crying.

“Don’t worry,” she said.  “I wished for your wish to come true.”

“My wish was only to win,” I said.

——-

The other day, I got a fortune cookie that said, “You will stop procrastinating, starting tomorrow.”

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Two things made him sad.

I pass my life on the metro.  It makes it difficult to wake up in the morning.

Today, two men were talking behind me as we waited for the train.

Man 1:  I have been sad twice in my life.

Man 2:  When?

Man 1:  The first was when my best friend died.  His name was Étienne.  He put a bullet in his head.

Man 2:  Seriously?

Man 1:  Well, that’s what they told me.  I didn’t see it.  

Man 2:  And the second?

Man 1:  The second was when…

And then train came screeching sparking down the track.  I heard nothing.  The doors opened, people pushed on and off, raced to seats.  I walked on last.

Man 1:  … and I found myself googling ways to commit suicide.  That’s when I knew I couldn’t do it.

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Paris park with pigeons and fountains

last night’s wine bottle

tipped over

under the bench.

Late morning

bright paris springtime sun

open windows top floor

ten foot shadows on hardwood.

Scooters upon scooters

upon scooters upon

scooters upon scooters

upon scooters upon

scooters parked outside

the Japanese restaurant.

Accents down the

metro stairs

carrying luggage.

Cigarettes upon cigarettes

upon cigarettes upon

cigarettes upon cigarettes

upon cigarettes upon 

cigarettes piled up 

next to the sewege grate

after the rain.

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Commute.

Some people, in the dull yellow

light of the mètro, the

glass bottle of coke, rolling

hitting the wall at every

stop

with un petit piece s’il vous plaît

un ticket resto, still

look beautiful

and go home

to empty apartments.

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